


Heav'n Filled With Silence

by RosemaryLavenderSage



Category: Dragon Age (Comics), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Corypheus (Dragon Age) is Dead, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Pining, Post-Game(s), Slow Burn, but idk how slow I'm very impatient
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosemaryLavenderSage/pseuds/RosemaryLavenderSage
Summary: The Inquisitor has defeated Corypheus but she remains cursed, voiceless. And now that the threat of the Veil is gone, mages and Templars that gathered under the Inquisition's banner are poised to revive their bloody war within the walls of Skyhold.Within the chaos, Cullen finds himself the sole advocate for finding a cure.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. And Cross'd My Heart

  
Cullen stood at the window in his office, looking out at the horizon. The hour turned the light on his face a soft, pale orange. It was the first snow of the year and it was early - at least a month early, he thought.

He huffed. His breath fogged the window pane. Even though she was on the road back to Skyhold from the Storm Coast, Cullen knew the Inquisitor would be displeased with the snow. She’d make camp immediately instead of returning that night. That was inconvenient. He needed her approval on various requisitions, not to mention she was due to judge a controversial prisoner. A Templar - one of the Inquisiton's own.

Corypheus was dead half a year past and the Inquisition’s power was growing every day. This was the first real conflict in the Inquisition’s alliance between former Templars and the mages. Cullen thanked the Maker it hadn’t resulted in an abomination. They’d been lucky that no mage had yet been possessed within the walls of Skyhold. Solas said the veil was thicker here but Cullen had his own suspicions. They involved the Inquisitor.

Cullen rubbed his neck and sighed again, further fogging up the pane. The snow fell thicker and the sun faded to an inky black as he ruminated on the conflict. Soon, he could barely see the skyline. 

Even still, he caught a telltale light on the horizon. Bright, flickering through the trees, and moving fast. This time, he let out a disgruntled “harumph.”

He’d been wrong. She was coming home tonight after all. His heart sank into his stomach and for a split second he felt as if he was falling. Cullen needed her approval tonight but he was scared of her judgement in the morning, what it would mean for the future of the Inquisition. He clenched his gloved fist where it hung at the edge of the window. It was times like these that exacerbated his lyrium withdrawal. He felt like his stomach had no floor. 

The Templar up for judgement had molested a mage. It was exactly the kind of crime the Inquisitor took pains to prevent. She’d set up the terms of the alliance on the theory that abuse was what made abominations, that if the Inquisition could secure the mage's safety, the mages wouldn’t be tempted to turn to demons and blood magic.

Cullen remembered her face and the way her lips moved soundlessly as she’d explained her plan for the mages. It was just a few months ago - she had looked over the war table, her dark gaze fixed on him as he recited her own words back to her so that the entire room could understand her meaning. She knew so much about what happened at Kirkwall and she made him repeat what she knew to everyone. It'd been hard for him, to use her words to describe what he'd been a part of. It was the first time he had seen her truly angry, and he’d known it was directed at him. Deservedly.

Now, he collected the relevant reports and headed down to the stables to hand them off to the Inquisitor. Usually he would send a messenger but he wanted a chance to advise her about the judgement. Ask if she had returned early from the Storm Coast to address it. He hoped she would be receptive to his words despite his obvious bias.

The Inquisitor often declined to travel in the snow on her machine, refusing to explain further than her gesture for **danger**. Cullen didn’t know how the machine worked but he guessed her concern was the cold. The speed of her strange mount must make the wind biting. Maker knows why she decided to return through this storm. He hurried across the ramparts and down the stairs but they were fraught with ice. He caught himself slipping once and then slowed his pace.

He stood by the stables as the gate opened. The sharp screeching of the metal bars rebounded off the quiet walls. It was odd to hear the gate opening without the clomp of hooves or a whinny from the other side. Anyone else would blame the snowfall for the unnatural silence, but Cullen knew better.

It was always ear-achingly quiet around her. 

She entered the courtyard as smooth as butter and noiseless as a dove. Her machine’s lamp blinded him for a moment, and he shielded his eyes. She was next to him before his eyes could adjust and only his experience with her stealth kept him from jumping back.

Her machine hovered slightly above the snow, and left only a shallow, wide track as if a gust of wind had blown through. When she crossed the threshold of the stable the horses in the stalls whinnied. She looked back at her passenger.

Cullen’s mouth opened when he realized that Dorian was clinging tightly to her. Dorian made eye contact with the Inquisitor and nodded. His hand stayed at her hip as his right leg swung off the mount. 

It was unnerving even now, the way Dorian’s movements made no sound as long as he was touching her. His right foot sunk into the snow that had drifted into the stable without a whisper. He said something - his mouth moved - but no words carried on the wind. Dorian’s face was away from Cullen’s, so he couldn’t catch a phrase.

Cullen, as a former templar, had been trained in lip reading. It was an imperfect art but an invaluable one for Templars rooting out rebellious mages. He’d spent years reading lips in towers and guarded courtyards looking for words like “blood” or “escape” or even “love.” It made him sick to think about it. Even worse, he excelled at it. It was one of the reasons Meredith had promoted him to Knight Captain quickly: he’d ferreted out blood mages, escapees… and illicit lovers with zeal, for extra lyrium rations. Now, this skill made him the silent Inquisitor’s favored interpreter. 

Dorian let go of her hip and the Inquisitor’s metal, wheeled machine sunk to the floor of the stable. It broke a floorboard without a sound.

“Vishante Kaffas, this beast won’t stay powered.” Dorian’s voice was muffled as he removed one of the Inquisitor’s strange helmets from his head. The helmet was sleek and white and had a clear face shield.

She wore something similar except it was silver. And it glittered. Her eyes caught Cullen’s through her face shield before she removed her helmet.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen inwardly balked at his own tone. As Commander of the Inquisition, he should never sound so worried.

But he didn’t understand the Inquisitor. And he definitely did not understand her machine, let alone the magic that helped run it. He didn't know why she'd returned early. This ignorance made him uncomfortable.

“The runes are giving out. We’re going to have to replace them.” Dorian shook his head. “At first we thought it was absorbing more energy than usual, but she’s admitted to sneaking off to seal rifts on her own.” Dorian shot an admonishing look at the Inquisitor. “We found her stranded some distance from camp. I powered it on the ride here but if you don’t mind, it was exhausting and I’m absolutely freezing.” Cullen noticed then that Dorian was covered with snow, while his chest was clean from where his body had rested flush against the Inquisitor’s. His mustache was frozen, and cracked as he spoke.

“Of course. Let Dagna know about the runes before you retire. She’ll be up.” There. His Commander voice was back. 

Dorian waved him off, and moved to give the Inquisitor a hug and a kiss on her temple. Cullen knew that the Inquisitor’s neutralization of magic - her silencing effect - extended slightly beyond her person, and that powering the machine with her on it must have exhausted Dorian’s mana supply. He also knew that mages felt uncomfortable around her. Reports said she made them feel weak - and that this effect was exacerbated by the touch of her bare skin. Cullen felt a flare of gratitude, even pride, towards Dorian for such a selfless, vulnerable display of affection. 

In contrast, Dorian merely nodded at Cullen and made for the entrance to the keep through the kitchens. Probably to warm himself by the fires and grab a nightcap. Cullen almost scoffed, but he knew his presence didn’t foster affection in the same way as the Inquisitor’s did.

The Inquisitor placed her helmet and her gloves on a bail of hay and took a step towards him. She was as covered in snow as Dorian was and she was shivering lightly. Nevertheless she wore a pleased smile as she held her hand out to him.

He had a horrible flashback of the first time she had done that. Not knowing what she expected, he’d moved to kiss her hand. She’d pulled away, abruptly. And then forced his right hand into hers and shook them vigorously. 

Over time, they’d moved away from handshakes. He hastily tucked the reports under his arm and removed his gloves, and engulfed her hand with both of his. Her second hand joined immediately. He felt the ghost of her sigh over their clasped hands.

Her palms were like ice, per usual. No matter how thick her gloves, the Fereldan wind bit into her fingers as she clutched the handles of her metal mount. It came to be an Inquisition practice, to warm the Herald’s hands upon every arrival. It helped to level the ground, too, since no one could be heard while they were touching her. She was equal to whoever received her, if only for a few moments. It was a sign of respect for her involuntary vow of silence.

Cullen used to think it would be awkward but the Herald’s affliction made her a tactile person. She couldn’t make any sound, so to get attention she would place a hand on a shoulder. To comfort, she’d pat a hand or even a cheek. If she was angry, she would sometimes poke - to great effect, as her silencing touch interrupted what her opponent was saying.

She winced as he rubbed his hands over hers. It was always painful for her as her they adjusted to the heat.

 **Cullen**. When the Inquisitor spoke, it looked like she was merely mouthing words, rather than speaking. When she first arrived, people shouted at her to just talk instead of mouthing words. She had to hold their hands up to her throat so they could feel her vocal chords flexing. She was indeed speaking, and had nearly destroyed her throat that first week trying to shout a sound out, according to Solas. Cullen almost smiled when he thought of how that had started her love affair with hot elf root tea.

 **Inquisitor**. Cullen looked down at their intertwined hands. He did not feel the same discomfort mages felt at her touch but it was still unnerving to hear no sound when he opened his mouth. Breathing made no sound and he was sure he should be able to hear his heartbeat. The sound of the wind seemed farther away. He waited a few more moments to feel her hands warm beneath his before disengaging so as to free his voice.

“We weren’t expecting you.” It seemed wrong to speak out loud to her. The gravel of his voice pierced her eerie silence like a rock thrown onto a still lake. “Did you come back to Skyhold through this storm just to replace the runes?” Cullen jutted his chin toward her machine.

 **Yes and No**. She shook her head. **I ran my ___ dry closing rifts on the Storm Coast**. He missed a word. Lipreading was not an exact art. It could never fully replace speech. It didn’t help that she used strange words. He must have made a face, because she repeated herself and used gestures to clarify her meaning. **The** [her word for her machine] **uses more energy when it goes faster. I pushed it too hard. It died. And… you know I’m useless without it**. She gave him a small smile at the end.

He disagreed with her evaluation, but he let it go. It took so much energy and time to communicate with her that arguing over small things becomes inefficient. 

As such, it was hard to contradict her.

“You rushed because you wanted to return to judge the Templar?” Cullen had learned to ask her questions, to predict where she was going. It was easier for her to confirm or deny something than to introduce new concepts. 

**Yes, I got the raven with the news. Decided to return. But not without closing all the rifts**. She looked relieved that he’d understood her point before she made it. Though Corypheus was defeated, there were still many remote rifts left for the Inquisitor to close. It was easy work for her since demons evaporated at her touch. 

**I have to clean my m___ and then retire**. There, the word for her machine again. He knew it started with an “M,” but it had too many syllables. She’d pointed at it to make it clear before she continued. **I am also exhausted**. At the word exhausted, she did a mimed impression of Dorian, all hip and eye rolling. It was quite good.

“Of course.” Cullen laughed. An almost warm happiness moved from his belly up to his throat. “But please take a look at these requisitions tonight.” He sobered, cleared his throat. “And… if you get the chance, I’d like to… go over our options with the Templar. Before you judge him.” Cullen tried to avoid saying that they would “discuss” or “speak about” things around with the Inquisitor. It seemed insensitive. 

**Tell me you’re not going to keep me up** , she widened her eyes, **all night** , she pointed at the moon just visible over the horizon and mimed its course across the sky **defending him** , **are you?** She asked him with one eyebrow raised, and Cullen couldn’t tell if it was a serious question. He frowned.

“No, I won’t defend him. It’s despicable.” His frown turned into a grimace. “But you should know that many of the Templars will see this as an attack-” He was cut off by her hand on his chest. His words died in the air.

 **Not Templars anymore** , she drew a cross on her chest with her other hand to mimic their armor. **We’re all part of the Inquisition.** She tapped the eye symbol on her chest. Her expression was more hopeful than severe, and she released him.

“They are part of the Inquisition, yes, but they are still Templars.” Cullen regained his voice. “You know that it takes more than new armor, a different name, to remove the Chantry’s influence. And I know that they’ll close ranks when they sense a threat.” His voice grew more urgent, and he was reminded of their first conversation together. 

The Inquisitor had come up to him while he was training troops in Haven. He’d been flustered by her. He was embarrassed to have to look at her mouth as she talked. Stupidly, he’d filled the silence and gone on about the Chantry’s failures, when he’d realized with horror that he was *lecturing* her. When he’d apologized, he was surprised to find her mouthing his words along with him. As if she’d known exactly what he was going to say. And then she’d laughed, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her bright white teeth. She’d calmed his bewilderment with a palm on his chest. Told him in her own way that she would come to rely on his advice. That she would need it. Now, he hoped that she would see through on her promise and listen to him.

“They’ll defect if we don’t frame this right.” He finished, his eyebrows closing together to make a substantial crinkle along his brow. 

**I know they’re hard to change. But some Templars** , she looked into his eyes and Cullen was struck by their dark color, **do change.** The Inquisitor looked down and took his hands in hers. Her hands were still frozen. He reversed their positions, enclosing her cold digits with his warm grasp again. Giving up her hands a second time was a quiet signal that she was done talking. Cullen noticed then that she was still shivering, still covered in snow, still out in the elements. The stable was half open to the wind.

Cullen let his breath out and some of his confidence left with it. He felt deflated.

 **You probably know about all that already.** Cullen murmured over the silencing effect of her grasp, more to himself than to her. She lifted her eyes to his, looking a little alarmed that she had missed something he said. **Let’s get you inside** , he nodded his head sideways towards the kitchens, **you’ll catch your death out here**. That, she definitely understood. She nodded eagerly and they moved together to the entrance to the kitchens.

The Inquisitor’s immunity to magic and her unnatural foresight had led to her accelerated defeat of Corypheus and his forces. In addition to recruiting both the mages and the Templars, she’d contacted the Wardens to let them know of the false calling before they’d ever considered binding themselves with demons. 

However, her immunity came at great cost. She could not be healed. Even health potions, something no one in Thedas considered to be magical, had little effect on her. 

Cullen was the primary proponent for her safety in war councils. He bemoaned that it mattered little that she could incapacitate a mage or banish a demon with the touch of her skin if a single shallow dagger wound could kill her. And tonight, as he took in her shivering form, he was reminded that without magic they had little to fight any serious sickness that took hold of her.

He wrapped a heavily armored arm around her to shield her from the wind as they ascended the stairs to the kitchen. She shivered harder beneath him and he suppressed the chill that ran up his spine in response. 

_I am not going to wait until she closes every Maker-forsaken remote rift_ , _to the void what Leliana thinks,_ he thought, _we need to begin looking for a cure in earnest._


	2. Give Mortals Another Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey hope everyone is holding it together. this chapter is angsty and has some discussion of sexual assault.

The evening snowfall turned into a blizzard that lasted into the morning. The advisors had a meeting in the war room scheduled to discuss the Templar’s judgement.

Cullen was there early. He’d trudged through the courtyard with his face shielded from the wind, lifting his knees high to make way through the deep snowdrifts. It was cold in the war room. He waited at the table alone with an icy grip on the pommel of his sword to keep his hands from shaking. He felt the anger and worry in the numb tips of his fingers. Skyhold felt like it was on a precipice.

The friction between the mages and Templars had, not long ago, been hot enough to ignite a war. Now, without the threat of Corypheus to direct both sides’ energies, any small tiff could catch that inferno. Skyhold was full of dry tinder. 

Cullen rubbed his temple and let his head hang towards the table. He looked up when Leliana and Josephine entered with the Inquisitor.

Josephine’s eyes were tired. She’d taken the young mage girl, the one the Templar had victimized, into her care before the trial. 

Still, Josie’s voice held spirit, “The Inquisitor,” she inclined her head to the young woman across the table from her, “in her short time in Thedas has accumulated favors from Empress Celene and King Alistair as well as various leaders of the Free Marches - and I have a great many contacts in Rivain. It would be nothing to have this -” she frowned, searching for a word, “this- brute expelled from Fereldan and Orlais - and then watched carefully, should he go elsewhere.”

There was a short pause, then Leliana pounded a soft fist into the table. “No. We can’t risk this happening to someone else. We don’t have eyes everywhere.” Her clipped accent clashed against Josephine’s musical tones. “We should kill him or imprison him here. We should not make him some other nation’s problem.”

The Inquisitor’s frown deepened. **We don't execute**. She made a sweeping motion at all of them, then shook her head while pulling a finger across her throat. She leaned her body weight on the war table as if the subject made it difficult for her to stand.

Cullen grinned his teeth against the urge to order a chair bought in for her. Since her meaning was clear, he didn’t translate. 

Instead he added,“And we can’t imprison him here. With sympathetic Templars in every pocket of Skyhold, we would run the risk of mutiny if he’s allowed to spread his tale of woe from the dungeons” He spat the phrase to emphasize how pathetic he felt that tale would be.

The Inquisitor’s mouth wavered at the word Templar. He could tell that she wanted to argue, again, that there were no Templars. She’d dissolved the Order when the Templars joined the Inquisition as conscripts. He’d translated her message of peace to the crowd and at the time he’d felt hope for a peaceful future fill his chest. Since then, Cullen had watched her distaste for the word play out across her face over and over again; she was so animated he could almost hear her protest. Just like last night, in the stables.

Today, however, he watched as her resolve to challenge him crumbled. She looked down at the table. Regular people could have a tete-a-tete, a conversation that volleys back and forth. But her silent meanings were arduous boulders. She couldn’t push all of them.

Cullen felt bitter taste crawl into his mouth.

* * *

They’d come to no conclusion by the time for sentencing. Nevertheless, the Inquisitor insisted she would give a verdict by the end of the testimony. Cullen and Josephine had begged her to delay the judgement but she’d insisted that would show that they were hesitant, and give more time for their enemies to coalesce. Leliana had agreed. As such, she had excused herself to prepare before reappearing under the stained glass at the zenith of the hall. 

Cullen stood numbly. He held a clipboard with a candle that was dripping wax everywhere: on the floor, on his gloved fingers, on the papers clipped to the thin sheet of wood. He was to take Josephine’s position today. The role did not suit him but his presence in the hall might appease the Templars. Cullen felt that they should see one of “their own” facilitating the judgement.

He watched the Inquisitor on her throne out of the corner of his eye. She sat with a straight spine and her jaw tipped up regally. Her legs were crossed. Not at the ankle as she usually posed on her throne but rather with her thighs folded over one another. The posture reminded Cullen of a cat - though cats don’t sit crossed legged, so he wasn’t sure how he got the impression. Her hands gripped the armrests of the Andrastian seat. They were white with tension. They looked like claws.

She was wearing one of the strange outfits she’d arrived with. Cullen had hoped that she’d wear Inquisition garb or one of Josephine’s dresses. Instead, she wore a light green dress with a high neck and no sleeves. Cullen tried not to notice that it was see-through. The holes on the sides for her arms dipped low to reveal a black lacy brassiere. Involuntarily, he remembered Bull’s frequently-professed love of “side-tit.” He pulled his eyes away but then they were tempted to run up the slits at the bottom of the dress. Her figure there was clear even though she wore black leggings underneath. 

The leggings were a stretchy material that the Inquisitor had refused to explain. There was nothing like them in Thedas. She had let Josie and Leliana try them on to great exclamations about their comfort and flattering nature. Cullen had politely declined to test them himself. The leggings tapered down to her feet, where her black boots had tread and thick heels that he knew from experience brought her up to his height. 

And - Maker’s Breath this was the worst part: she’d dyed her hair again. After Corypheus was defeated she’d found a way to lighten her long, curly dark hair in strange yellow segments. The effect was pleasing. Now, however, she’d darkened the yellow with a blood red all around. It was not a natural red. The effect was… alarming. 

Inwardly, he questioned the wisdom of flaunting her otherworldiness at this gathering. The Andrastian decorations throughout the hall hinted at a divine origin - but would Thedosians really continue to accept someone so strange-looking, so cursed, as Andraste’s Herald? Will her divinity hold when she upends sacred norms of the Chantry? When the dizzying depth of her strangeness revealed itself?

The Herald’s victory over Corypheus had been swift, clean, and quiet. She’d used her clandestine knowledge of Corypheus’s plan to unwind everything he’d tried to materialize. Most notably, Cullen remembered, within days of arriving in Thedas she’d found Commander-Warden Clarel and revealed the reality of the false calling and Erimond’s plan. He’d heard it took a lot of gesturing on her part but she’d convinced Clarel not to bind her Wardens to demons. 

As such, Thedas had no clue how close they’d been to annihilation. Cullen often heard Josephine mourn over the Inquisitor’s perfect penchant for solving problems without fanfare. Josephine emphasized that her reputation hadn’t built appropriately. Her divinity was still questioned. Her muteness, her immunity to magic, the strange objects she’d brought through the veil and her knowledge of things she shouldn’t know - these were divisive traits that proved her divinity to some but damned her to many others.

That distrust permeated the hall he stood in now. The room was quiet as nobles, former Templars and mages crowded around the dias. Servants collected in the corners trying to look busy while they dawdled in the hall. From upper class to lower, they all had sense to keep their mouths shut in the face of the waves of rage emanating from the throne. The Inquisitor’s face was so uncharacteristically serene that it was threatening. The room shrunk from her. It muffled itself.

Cullen kept his face flat as the door from the dungeon swung open. Two Inquisition guards - former Templars, Cullen noted with alarm, rather than the one Templar and a mage he’d assigned - led the prisoner to the center of the hall. Something slimy slithered into Cullen’s gut. He moved a hand to his sword and shifted his stance - not enough to clue in anyone in the room, but enough to be ready for any attack.

The accused stumbled between his guards. His legs seemed to struggle to hold his weight. Cullen bit back an open scoff - the man had been in a cell for three days. With no visible injuries, the stumbling was all show. The Inquisitor stood as the prisoner’s procession came to a rest in front of her. 

The doors to the hall closed. Cullen saw the faces of many Templars in the crowd turn sour when became clear that the accuser would not attend the judgement. Cullen had insisted that Madeline, the mage girl, attend. He’d argued that it made her accusations more believable. Josephine would not hear of it. Cullen could hear her Antivan accent, “Commander, you will not re-traumatize that girl.” He’d backed down. She was 14, and they had other witnesses: two of them stood at the Inquisitor’s left hand.

A mage and a Templar, Eric and Adrian, were both Madeline’s former tutors. Young mages were assigned one of each to facilitate their training within Skyhold as part of the Inquisitor’s new training regimen.

The Inquisitor had invited the two to speak publicly to preserve a sense of transparency and fairness. Though, of course, she’d already heard everything they had to say. Adrian was a senior Templar with two streak of grey above her ears that ran through her long blonde hair. Though she had a much sweeter disposition, Cullen was often reminded of a certain Captain of the Kirkwall guard when he looked at her.

Erin was younger. He went through his Harrowing a few months before the war started. The fighting had weathered him. He had a scar over his eye that cut deeply into his hairline that he didn’t like to talk about. His face had a cruel edge to it that softened when he spoke of Madeline. 

Cullen, as commander, took part in reviewing every young mage’s training in the Inquisition. He’d reported that Adrian and Erin were devoted to Madeline. It was unsurprising. She was the sweetest young girl in Skyhold with an exceptional magical skill for her age. She was known for wearing daisies in her hair. Adrian and Erin were shocked when Madeline reported Michel’s abuse to them. 

The accused Templar, Michel, was an older man. Grey saturated his thick hair and beard. His face was lined and serious but Cullen could recognize that, underneath his expression and the layer of filth he’d rubbed on his brow, he was handsome. He had a charming look even as he hung pitifully between his captors. Reports said that he was well-liked among his peers. Cullen couldn’t help but note that didn’t look like a monster.

Cullen cleared his throat as the prisoner was placed at the Inquisitor’s feet. The Inquisitor stood as she gave Michel a look of curdled hatred. The Inquisitor was not good at hiding her emotions, Cullen observed, worriedly.

Cullen took a breath with lungs that felt like stone, “Michel Carin, former Templar of the Chantry, now one of the Inquisitor’s mage tutors, you stand accused of molesting a mage child. Such an act is not only malicious towards the child. Such an act threatens all of us. Violence opens our mages to possession by demons and subjects us all to the possibility of an abomination in our midsts. How do you respond: are you guilty of this act, or not?”

Michel raised his dirty face and spat. The sound of his mouth spewing spittle echoed in the hall tense with silence. A few in the crowd gasped. 

“This trial is a sham.” He rasped, “No Templar will ever find justice in the court of a mage sympathizer. I demand to be extradited to Fereldan.” Michel’s voice sounded like a whetstone on a sword.

The Inquisitor stomped a foot toward Michel, her body alight with her rage. **You will face trial here**. Her mouth moved but no sound could be discerned, even in the echoey hall. She pointed down at her feet in an authoritative gesture. **Now, plead guilty, or deny it. Then we’ll hear evidence.** She pointed to the two tutors to her left.

Cullen stepped forward as well so that he was practically standing between Michel and the Inquisitor, and raised his voice, “The Inquisitor said -“

“I saw her pretty mouth move the same as you, traitor.” Cullen felt the weight of the crowd grow heavier. His back grew cold. He moved a sweaty hand to grip his blade. With effort, he kept it sheathed. Fear made him feel like he was holding on to his anger by a thread. He tasted lyrium in the back of his dry throat. 

He regretted not enlisting bodyguards to stand at the seat of the throne. Leliana had advised that it was better to hide their agents in the crowd but the lack of visible strength made Cullen uneasy. With a crowd like this, he felt it was best to make a show of force. 

Michel laughed and now it sounded like knives rubbing together. “That little mage whore came on to me. If anything, I should charge her - she threatened me that if I told anyone she’d burn me alive in my sleep - “ 

The Inquisitor grabbed Michel by the throat with just enough force to silence him with her curse. **You will wait your turn to explain.** She enunciated with her mouth. **Now plead: guilty, or not.**

This infuriated the Templars in the crowd. Cries of “Let him speak!” and “Witch! Let us hear him!” rose up from the packed throng. Cullen watched Michel’s mouth form around the words, “she had a went cunt.” Given that Michel was facing the dias, only he, the Inquisitor, and Erin and Adrian could see what he was saying. In surprise, the Inquisitor let go of Michel in a move that released his ragged laughter once more.

Then, everything went to shit.

Erin fade-stepped into Michel and Inquisitor, knocking her back as he stabbed Michel through the throat, cutting off his renewed laughter with a wet gurgle. The Templars on either side of Michel drew their swords, prompting practically everyone in the room to draw their weapons. As Erin pulled his blade from Michel’s throat, both Templar prison guards stabbed him with their sharp, long swords. Erin, with a tortured twisted scream, became an abomination: a rage demon. The transformation consumed the two Templars that had impaled Michel in an inferno that blasted Cullen and almost everyone else in the throne room to the floor. 

Cullen felt his leg snap. Decades of training took over and Cullen felt a need to rise and fight but it was all he could do to lift his head. Though the smoke Cullen saw that there was nothing left of the three Templars that had been standing in the center of the room: just three piles of ash and a newly born rage demon. 

That, and the makings of a new Mage-Templar war. The entire throne room was embattled. It was the Crossing all over again. Templars against Mages, with Inquisition troops cut down between them in a hopeless attempt to keep the peace. 

Through the smoke, the Inquisitor’s face appeared. She was lifting him up. She was bellowing something but his head was ringing, he couldn’t see her face. His heart longed to know what she made of this moment. He hated being right. He saw the ashy air move around them as her lungs pushed out her shouts but he couldn’t focus on her face, it was too blurry. 

Then, a blinding flash of light faded into a soft wave of heat around them. And another. And another. The source was getting closer, the light brighter, the heat hotter, but it never felt scorching. Merely more and more urgent. 

It took Cullen a moment to bring the oncoming abomination into focus. It was flinging fireballs at them. Cullen could hear it bellow over the din of the battle and the ringing in his ears, “YOU SHOULD HAVE PROTECTED HER.” 

Each fireball faded into a soft, warm wind as it came into contact with the Inquisitor’s outstretched, unmarked right hand. It looked like she was catching them. She was holding on to Cullen tightly with her marked arm as he struggled in heavy armor to his feet. One of his legs had part of a femur bone protruding out of it. He fell when he tried to put more weight on it, dragging the Inquisitor down towards the throne where he caught himself. 

Instead of letting go, the Inquisitor stumbled with him. Her unmarked hand caught the furthest armrest of the throne, where her left hand would usually sit. Her back was to the abomination as she tried again to lift Cullen. With her hands busy, she failed to catch the next fireball. Her body neutralized the brunt of it but without the extension of her hand the heat was nearly searing. Cullen felt his back left shoulder burn. He screamed but he couldn’t hear his voice.

The abomination with its half lava half human body was almost upon them. Cullen could now see that there was nothing left of Erin’s face. The magma sizzled what was left of the man’s blood in a stink that filled the room. Cullen could smell it over the screams of combatants falling in droves throughout the hall. 

He tried to raise his sword but he found that it wasn’t in his hand. The Inquisitor turned from him and he saw Adrian over her shoulder fighting off three other Templars. The Iron Bull was bellowing as he pushed two mages aside in his charge toward the center of the hall.

But the abomination was almost upon them. It was larger than a regular rage demon and more powerful: it had just consumed a mage. Cullen pulled the Inquisitor back towards him by her arm but she didn’t budge. He looked down at her feet and saw that she was using the strong stance he’d taught her months ago to hold her ground. Cullen cursed her. Absolutely no one heard it. 

The abomination got close enough that Cullen felt the warmth from its magma on his face.

The Inquisitor reached out with her unmarked hand and dipped it directly into the lava that ballooned out of the demon. The abomination stopped as its body blackened. Cullen watched in awe as the rage demon shrank back into a man. Back into Erin, who curled into a naked ball on the stone floor of the throne room, shivering.


	3. The World Spread Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athryn knows things.

\- Athryn PoV - 

She held Cullen’s hand and listened to his shallow breathing. She tried to focus on the plump parts of his palm and his softly parted lips. His pulse was slow but strong beneath his sword-roughened skin and his face held none of its usual tension. He looked younger. Less burdened. Still, the blood-soaked sheets and the strong smell of elf root in the healer’s quarters betrayed his peaceful demeanor. 

Athryn wanted to hold the back of his hand up to her lips, to bury her face in the one part of his body she allowed her skin to touch. She fought back tears. 

_Damn it_ , She thought. She’d been careful to distance herself from Cullen ever since she’d first seen him fighting demons outside of Haven. Even in the sickly green light of the veil, he was too handsome. Even amidst a crisis, too charming. Even through the turmoil of finding herself trapped in a _video game_ , it was impossible not to fall for him.

She’d held back her admiration and avoided cues she knew from the game that would deepen their relationship: no chess with Dorian, no walks along the battlements, no asking about Chantry vows or inquiring about his sister. No bringing him tea, no asking after his health, no meetings in his office alone - she always brought someone else.

It’d been painful, hearing the timber of his voice over the war table, feeling his eyes on her, bearing the weight of his kindness as he translated for her over and over again. She’d noticed that his gaze had been warmer of late, his kindness often a physical weight when he wrapped his solid, warm arm around her cold shoulders. But it felt wrong to involve herself with him. She felt invasive, manipulative. She knew why he had headaches, why he flinched at magic, why the heavy circles under his eyes deepened even with the Inquisition’s easy victories. And Athryn knew that she had no right to know these things.

Athryn was an intruder in his story - she’d usurped the place of some other Inquisitor, some Trevelyan or Lavellan twice as beautiful as her. He deserved a real Inquisitor, someone who didn’t cheat at the game by knowing all the answers ahead of time. He deserved someone who knew how to fight fair and face challenged head on. He deserved someone of this world. 

At the very least, he deserved someone who could *fucking* talk. Her miming was pathetic - she’d never been good at charades. Lately, sick of making exaggerated faces and facsimiles of shapes with her hands, she’d been quieter. Without the weight of the world to move her, there was little Athryn needed to communicate. And that was for the best. It meant fewer chances to reveal the depth of her passion for Cullen and fewer cracks in the elaborate story she’d built around her origin. 

She wouldn’t buckle now, just because she was facing the unknown for the first time. With Corypheus defeated, they’d entered the five-year gap in her knowledge: between now and the events of Trespasser, she’d have few answers, save an adventure to the Frostbacks and a journey into the Deep Roads. 

She sat next to Cullen’s form for a while longer. As she ruminated on her sudden lack of foresight, she held his hand tighter. 

_There’s no reason to cry_ , she told herself. The healers had assured her that he would be fine. That, unlike her, magic and healing potions could heal his broken femur. He would be awake before sundown, they’d said. Walking tomorrow.

But she couldn’t stop seeing the white of his bone against the pool of blood around his leg, the way he’d crumpled to the ground against all her efforts to hold his body up. The feeling of his silent scream dying in his chest between her arms as the crowds in the throne room fell to their knees in worship made it hard to breathe even now. She’d begged the room to help him but no one could hear her - and they’d been preoccupied groveling.

Athryn had reached out to the abomination in the throne room as she had with other demons, out of habit. The touch of her skin made demons in Thedas dissolve. She’d assumed the abomination would fade into mist as every other creature from the fade had.

At least, that’s what she’d hoped for. It’d been a gamble. Instead, when the lava cleared, Athryn was left with a naked male mage. Erin had been crumpled up on the ground, out cold, with the sword wounds from the Templars that stabbed him healed - and he hadn’t woken since. 

Now, Erin was in a bed behind Athryn, resting. Someone’d put a robe on him. A young, blonde elf healer Athryn recognized came in periodically to check on him but each time she left the tent as fast as she could. The senior healer, an older male mage assigned to Cullen, was better at hiding his briskness. However, he didn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the other bed nor did he hide the way his left hand shook within the pocket of his jacket.

Their fear frustrated the Inquisitor. 

For the first time since he’d left, Athryn missed Solas. He was the only one who would know what “curing” an abomination might mean. Was Erin now more susceptible to possession since he’d succumbed once? Or was he immune forever? Did he still even have his magic, would he awake a tranquil… Her head spun, and she squeezed Cullen’s hand, comforted by the warmth and strength the found there. She’d never had any answers when it came to her condition but this felt worse. So far, she’d known what to do next.

Athryn heard footsteps approach but didn’t raise her head. They paused at the doorway.

“So it only took mayhem and destruction to get you to show that you care, how sweet.” Dorian’s voice drifted in.

Athryn frowned. Dorian and Varric had been teasing her about Cullen for months and at times they bordered on cruel. Of course, Athryn never took the time to elaborate on why she neglected Cullen. She’d shake her head, make the sign for Templar - drawing a cross mimicking the sword of mercy across her chest - while making a disgusted face, and walk away. 

Dorian harrumphed at her lack of response just as he had in the past. “Really, for weeks now you’ve visited what remains of your inner circle twice a day. That is,” he paused, “except the Commander, whom you visit only when we force you.” 

Athryn lowered her head further towards Cullen’s warm hand.

“You drag your feet when you have to go to his tower. Walk away whenever you see him. Grimace when we bring him up. My dear, you’ve truly built a convincing veneer of hating that Templar bastard. But when push comes to shove, who do you turn to?” Athryn could hear him stroke his mustache. “It’s most perplexing, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor winced. His rebuke was worse than usual. With effort, she released Cullen’s hand and rose from her seat. Her legs felt stiff from sitting anxiously for so long. She moved towards Dorian and as she reached him leaning against the door, she paused and put a hand on the delicious part of his arm he always left bare.

To Dorian’s credit, he didn’t flinch. Athryn’d been told that her touch was nauseating to mages. According to Dorian, it was a “terribly vulnerable feeling”. He knew she’d cut off his magic as well as his voice.

 **Leave it be, Dorian** , she mouthed and she looked as deeply as she dared into his dark brown eyes. With her hand still on his arm she shook her head and gave him a look she hoped was serious and pleading. It alarmed her, that between Dorian, Bull, Sera, and Varric - and perhaps Cassandra - her most closely held secret was coming undone. Her excuses for why she avoided the Commander were running out: since she’d recruited both Templars and mages, she’d come to rely on him to keep the peace within the fortress walls. She so obviously relied on his past as a Templar - soon, no one would buy that she hated it.

Dorian’s features grew soft. As Athryn released his arm, he breathed, “Why do you do this? Stop pushing us away, please, it’s over now - there’s no reason anymore,”

He meant that Corypheus was defeated, but to Athryn, her battle in Thedas was far from over. To her, this was just beginning. This, the unknowing, would be the hardest part. The first time she’d have to lead the blind blindly.

 **You don’t know me.** Athryn didn’t know how to express herself beyond that. Anything else would be too complicated, take too long, be misunderstood - and disbelieved, God, who would believe her - 

“Then let us in! You won’t even tell us your name, or where you’re from, and all the while it’s clear you know more than anyone SHOULD know about all of us. Honestly, Inquisitor,” he used her title in a mocking tone, “the allure of your mystery is wearing thin.”

Cullen groaned. Both of them turned to him. Athryn bit her tongue as his eyes opened, and blinked rapidly as he focused on his two friends in the doorway. 

“Inquisitor…” he rasped. “What…”

Athryn rushed to return to her seat. She reached to return his hand to hers but stopped. That would silence him, she reminded herself.

“The abomination - “ Cullen moved to rise, grunting with effort, and Dorian was at his side pushing him back down.

“Hush now,” Dorian ensured Cullen was fully sunk into the bed as he explained, “The Inquisitor banished the abomination. Erin is alive and well, look just there -“ He directed Cullen to turn his head softly to the sleeping mage in the next bed. 

Cullen’s lips parted into a soft “oh” as his eyes wandered from Erin to the Inquisitor and back again. Athryn kept her gaze fixed at Cullen’s collarbones.

“But how is that possible? And the battle, what became of our soldiers - “ Cullen moved to rise again and Dorian pushed him firmly back down, ensuing a pained grunt from the Commander. 

The sounds in the room must have drawn in Josephine and Leliana, since they appeared at the doorway. Inwardly, Athryn cursed them. They’d definitely stayed behind Dorian to listen in. They’d goaded Dorian, her closest friend, into confronting her.

“There were some grave injuries, but since everyone laid down arms when the Inquisitor performed a miracle, the wounded are all making an adequate recovery.” Josephine’s lilting voice sang in from the doorway. 

Cullen slowly smiled, too, as the news sank in. 

“It seems that the Inquisitor has finally proven her divinity to the masses,” Leliana’s tone was jolly and conspiratorial. “A marvel for the history books, and this time in front of everyone. Let me tell you, Josie is much pleased with you, Inquisitor.”

To Athryn, the room was feeling insufferably crowded. She longed, selfishly, for cold quiet and the simplicity of a strong, warm hand between her palms. 

With a watery smile that she hoped passed for thankful and relieved, rather than trembling, she quit the healer’s quarters. She heard their startled murmurs at her retreat but she didn’t care. She need to talk to Dagna, get the bike running again. Get the fuck out of Skyhold. Close the last of the damn rifts.


End file.
